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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23643637">The Fire That Melts the Snow</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanishingbyler/pseuds/vanishingbyler'>vanishingbyler</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dead Poets Society (1989)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fix-It, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Post-Canon, References to Depression, References to Suicide, Sharing a Bed, everything is the same except neil didn't die, neil is alive, this is set seven years after the end of the film, todd is a poet and lives in new york</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 21:14:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,509</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23643637</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanishingbyler/pseuds/vanishingbyler</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Todd hasn't stopped thinking about Neil Perry in all the years since his death. How could he, when so many questions were left unanswered when they last spoke?</p><p>It takes just one knock on the door to answer them all.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Todd Anderson/Neil Perry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>201</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Fire That Melts the Snow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hi it's 5am i've been in lockdown for over three weeks and i'm an emotional wreck !!! i've watched dead poets society 8 times in the last week !!! i'm slowly losing my mind !!!</p><p>anygay, this idea came to me at like. 3am and i was expecting it to be like 1k words max and yet here we are,,, some soft lil anderperry shit to fix what peter weir did to my emotional state. i've never written for this fandom before so i am ## insecure but here we are</p><p>this entire thing was written either while watching the film or listening to this playlist: shorturl.at/hEKNV</p><p>p.s. if there's any mistakes, assume it's bc i wrote this while exhausted</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Neil Perry still occupies a great portion of Todd's brain. Of course he does; you never forget your first love, especially not one whom you loved so wholly and completely, and whose departure from your life left such questions. The last time Todd saw Neil was endlessly confusing, a moment locked in time and remembered for the loose ends it left.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>To wake up the next morning to the news that Neil had shot himself was… incomprehensible. All attempts to contact the Perry family were fruitless, and without so much as an obituary to go on Todd had found himself floating in a void of uncertainty. The lack of closure hurt more than the loss itself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn't that Neil was the last person Todd ever loved.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At college, he met women and men alike that he took a fancy to. That said, it was always the men that left a lasting impression. He came to the conclusion in his final year that he was, indisputably, a homosexual. His long term girlfriend, Anthea, was wonderfully accepting. </span>
  <em>
    <span>"Anthea Anderson would have been a terrible name anyway" </span>
  </em>
  <span>was all she had said, and Todd was eternally grateful to her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He lives just outside of New York City these days. Though long since separated, he shares an apartment with Anthea, who is also unmarried, and he's as close to happy as he can be with the weight of loss still hanging heavy over his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Winter plays with his heart, and he's known to retreat into himself when the leaves depart from the trees. Those that love him are aware of it and leave him to his own devices, knowing better than to try and find reason to his melancholy. It's late in the December of 1966 when everything comes back, memories of his first few months at Welton hitting him like a blow to the chest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It's the desk set that sets him off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He's writing Christmas cards. With a list in front of him, compiled by Anthea, of everyone who has sent something to him, he takes to the task of writing a personal message in each and every one - what good is being a poet if you don't use your words at every opportunity? Halfway down the list, he reaches a cluster of names that stop him in his tracks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Charles Dalton. Stephen Meeks. Knox Overstreet. Gerard Pitts. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knew, of course, that they had written. They have done every year since graduation, and he stores every card in a folder on his desk. But to see them all side by side like this leaves no space to ignore the glaring omission, the awareness of a name that </span>
  <em>
    <span>should </span>
  </em>
  <span>be there, but never will be. The lack of Cameron is no great loss, but to know Neil's name won't ever be on this list opens the wound in his heart anew, and it startles him to realise the date.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>December 12th. It has been, officially, seven years. It's 1966, and the world has been without Neil Perry for seven agonising years. The calendar that tells him so lives upon his desk, alongside the desk set his parents gave him for his 16th birthday what feels like a lifetime ago. The identical twin of The World's First Unmanned Flying Desk Set. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He thinks of that moment on occasion, but it's all too much right now. His eyes swim and he has to stagger away from the desk before he smashes it to pieces.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He finds himself hovering over the sink, unsure quite when he got there, with a glass of cold water in his shaking hands. With each sip he curses himself for allowing treacherous memories to well up in his mind, but there's only so much self loathing he can allow before the doorbell rings.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Thea, how many times…" He mumbles loudly as he approaches the door, assuming his housemate has once again forgotten her key. "You're lucky I'm home, or you'd—"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He cuts himself off as he opens the door to reveal a hauntingly familiar face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wears his hair a little longer these days, and stands a little shorter, but it's undeniably him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hi."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"N-Neil."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah." His smile is lopsided and warm, and Todd's chest tightens.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But, b-b-but… You </span>
  <em>
    <span>shot </span>
  </em>
  <span>yourself. You </span>
  <em>
    <span>died."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, yes and no." He responds, gesturing vaguely to the cane in his right hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a moment to observe a little closer, Todd sees the ghost of a scar across his left temple, and the way his posture slants just a little to the right. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Would you, uh, d-do you wanna… Would you like t-to come in?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The return of his stutter is frustrating, to say the least. The last time Neil saw him he had overcome it, what with the boost of confidence he got from being a society member. It came back with a vengeance after Neil's supposed death, but he's slowly worked past it over the last few years, to the point newer friends would never guess it had ever plagued him to begin with. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He guides Neil through to the living room. The younger boy, despite his slight limp, is still quick on his feet, radiating charm and showing off that enigmatic smile that has shown up in Todd's dreams for years.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He murmurs something about getting comfortable, before shuffling through to the kitchen to make a pot of tea. As the kettle boils he allows himself a series of deep breaths, white-knuckling the countertop as he does so. The dull ache in his fingertips is all he has to remind him that </span>
  <em>
    <span>no, this isn't a dream, Neil Perry is in your living room, breathing your air. </span>
  </em>
  <span>For all the times he's pictured him, he never expected those fantasies of a living man to come to fruition. He'd always assumed that Neil would </span>
  <em>
    <span>stay </span>
  </em>
  <span>dead, not once imagined that something like this could happen. He doesn't have the slightest clue how to feel.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He carries the tray of tea through with shaky hands. Neil thanks him with a nod of his head and that signature smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"So…" Todd begins, unsure what can even be said in a surreal situation such as this. "You're alive?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I think so, yeah."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And it's taken you this long to tell me?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A new emotion has risen to the forefront, white hot rage at the man before him. How can he be here? How can he be </span>
  <em>
    <span>smiling</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Does he not realise what these past years have done to Todd's psyche? Does he not understand that they all thought he was dead? It's infuriating to feel the calm radiating off him, to sense how little this seems to affect him. He's supposed to be six feet under, for Christ's sake! How can he show his face with no hint of remorse?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I couldn't reach you. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>couldn't. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I've been trying, Toddy, I swear I have!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Seven. Years."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"My father, he—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Your father isn't you!" Todd quips back, slamming his teacup to the table and spilling hot liquid over his hand with a hiss. "</span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Seven years. You're 25 goddamn years old, Neil. You've had plenty of time to get away from your father."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Twenty-four." He responds, smiling sadly at the ground. "I was stuck at home until I was 21, though. And the hospital before that."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You were </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Your father told Nolan you were </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead.</span>
  </em>
  <span>"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He told Nolan I shot myself. It wasn't a lie, and I guess the school just put the pieces together themselves. The gun, it— It misfired. Messed me up pretty badly, but I survived it. Unfortunately, maybe."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No." Todd stands sharply, turning away and clenching his scalded fist. "You don't get to do that. You don't get to '</span>
  <em>
    <span>unfortunately' </span>
  </em>
  <span>this. We had a </span>
  <em>
    <span>memorial</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Neil. A funeral. Keating lost his job, Charlie got expelled. You ruined </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything </span>
  </em>
  <span>by dying, and you're not even dead."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He feels a hand on his shoulder and, against better judgement, doesn't shrug it off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Neil's energy fills the air the same way it always did, shrouding Todd in a safe sort of warmth that illuminates the otherwise dull space. It should feel unwelcome here - in Todd's own home, a place he's built for himself in a post-Neil world, the sanctuary he's created to </span>
  <em>
    <span>escape </span>
  </em>
  <span>the grief. And yet it doesn't. Neil could never seem out of place, never be anything but Todd's one desire. What he brings to the room is what has been missing all these years, the thing Todd didn't even know wasn't there. He can't be angry at Neil for long, he never could.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"He withdrew me from Welton that night. Before it happened. He didn't have to explain my not coming back, so… So we moved. They had me committed for a while, to recover and whatnot, and then we went to live with my grandparents up in Maine. I was there until I turned 21, and by then you were all long gone from Welton. I've been trying to find you."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Todd pulls away and returns to the couch, gesturing for Neil to join him. Neil thanks him with another smile, and sits just inches away. Todd can practically feel the rise and fall of his chest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Three years?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're not an easy man to find. You know how many Todd Andersons there are in the U.S.?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What about Meeks? Or Pitts? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Knox Overstreet, </span>
  </em>
  <span>for God's sakes. They're not exactly common names."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I wanted you to be the first."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The air catches in Todd's throat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"So how did you find me?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I keep up with the Welton alum newsletters. They published an article about your new book - I read it, by the way. You're talented."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So I got as far as NYU. Then I had to start trying to find an actual address, since you weren't in school anymore. It took a while. New York's a big place."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well… you found me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I found you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Would you wanna call the others? I have their numbers."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can I get some time with you? Just you? I mean shit, Todd, I've been trying to find you for years. The others can wait."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Todd can practically feel the way his face pales, but turning down Neil has never been in his skillset.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"W-we could, uh, we could go for a w-walk? There's a nice park not far from here." He curses under his breath at the reemergence of the stutter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sounds like a plan." Neil smiles, rising softly to his feet and retaking the cane. "Got your coat?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It's at that moment that Todd notices Neil's jacket, the old Welton Academy duffle coat with its distinctive red lining and embroidered school crest. His heart skips a beat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Y-yeah. Yeah, it's just in the hall."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They leave their tea to go cold as they leave the house. Todd leaves a note, just in case Anthea arrives home before they do. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Off sucking the marrow out of life. Should be back by dinner. Adore you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As they traipse through the snow-laden streets, Todd takes a moment to breathe it all in. Though it's only early evening - no later than 5, but he's not in the mood to check his watch - the midwinter sunset has already been and gone, leaving the city dark and illuminated only by the moon. Bright white light bounces off Neil's cheekbones, drawing attention away from the harsh scar that Todd now struggles not to notice. He walks with a slight limp that doesn't seem to slow him down much, and snowflakes land on his eyelashes every few seconds. He looks exactly as he did all those years ago, and Todd feels younger.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The weather was much like this when he walked Neil to Henley Hall that ill fated afternoon. Had he known then that it would be their last moment alone for years, he would have savoured it more, but he had foolishly believed they'd be back in their beds just hours later. It's freezing cold, but not unbearably so, and the snow on the ground is thick enough to allow for a satisfying crunch underfoot with no risk of slipping. He's written poems about conditions such as these, words falling onto the page the same way snowflakes fall to the ground. Winter has been his muse for a while now (well, winter and Neil. But those two are somewhat interchangeable in his mind.) and he aches to take pen to paper about this very moment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"So who's Thea?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hmm?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"When you came to the door, you said Thea."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, Anthea. She lives with me, we met at college."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh. Is she your girlfriend, or…?" Todd tries to hide his triumphant smirk when he realises how disappointed Neil sounds. "I'm happy for you, obviously."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Todd just laughs. "Not by a long shot. She's wonderful, but I don't swing that way."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You don't… </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh.</span>
  </em>
  <span>"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh </span>
  </em>
  <span>indeed. Are you telling me you read my work and </span>
  <em>
    <span>still </span>
  </em>
  <span>thought I'd end up with a woman?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neil blushes. "I didn't want to assume anything."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All Todd can do is laugh - </span>
  <em>
    <span>Neil Perry </span>
  </em>
  <span>is blushing over </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>! It's comical, after their months of friendship all those years ago when all Todd could do under Neil's gaze was turn bright red, to see the cool and collected of the two of them become such a fluttery mess. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It begs the question, though, of how much growing up Neil got to do after everything. Todd's newer, marginally more confident persona has been shaped by years of education, socialisation, and grief. If Neil has spent all that time in the company of nobody but his father and himself, how far removed can he be from the boy Todd knew? Seventeen, fresh faced, longing for a taste of the real world?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I liked the dedication. In your book. To Keating, and the guys…"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And to you."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Proud as he is of his work, it's the dedicatory page he cares most for.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>For the Dead Poets: May we continue to live deliberately.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>For Mr. Keating: This is my barbaric yawp.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And for Neil: I hope you found that you truly lived.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The book has been successful, though not life-changingly so. It's done well enough that he and Anthea live comfortably, and that his only job is to write more. He's content to do so, what with the way poetry allows him to express every emotion he fails to in his day-to-day life. This last half hour with Neil will likely give him material for years to come.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You're really good, Todd. Like… </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>good. I knew you were, but…" He pauses to find the words - odd, when they once came to him so easily. "Reading it, it's like discovering you all over again. Everything I thought I knew came into question and I started to wonder if I ever knew you at all. But then I read it again, and again, and… And I realised it was there all along. It's like uncovering something."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thanks, Neil." It's Todd's turn to blush. "It's not that gr—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't be so Todd. Don't try to downplay it. It's </span>
  <em>
    <span>amazing, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Todd. You're amazing. The one about the blanket is even better than I remembered, and, and… And the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Still We Sleep </span>
  </em>
  <span>one… Was that the one you started writing for Keating's assignment?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You remember that?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Neil takes a step back, leaning his weight on his cane and looking up at the snow. They've reached the park by now, and they've paused right in the middle, by a pond that's been frozen over for weeks. They're the only people crazy enough to be out in this weather, and the space belongs to them alone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He really hasn't changed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Todd has conjured images of Neil's face for years now, but something about the nature of memory made it impossible for him to quite capture the image of the light that lives in his eyes. He's tried writing about it, but words don't come so easily as he'd like them to.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The starlight he remembered is still present, a glowing entity behind Neil's features that lends itself to the beauty he exudes. When he thought Neil had died, Todd's nightmares had started to take the form of a funeral. Open casket, with the harrowing image of Neil's lifeless face branded into Todd's psyche. He'd pictured the worst of it - colour drained from his skin, sparkling eyes never to reopen, an ashen facade of the boy who burned like fire. Now, though, it's clear to see that the flame is still alive.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Neil sits in the snow, not seeming to care that it's already soaking through his clothes. He gestures for Todd to join him, and he does - he's never been able to deny Neil Perry.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Why did you do it?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hmm?" Neil has seemed content to stare off into the distance, admiring the view. Todd's words tear him from his stupor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You know. Shoot yourself." Back when they knew each other, Todd would never have been so bold as to speak this plainly. "The play went well. You were happy, really happy. That's the part I've never understood."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"My father… Well. You know what he was like. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Is </span>
  </em>
  <span>like, I suppose. I haven't spoken to him in a while."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But you were the strong one. You rallied against your father, that was what you </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span>."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I guess I rallied a little too hard. He was going to send me to military school. I figured it was better to go out on my own terms. The ultimate carpe diem."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Todd scoffs. "I'm not sure you've got the sentiment. Carpe diem means to make the best of your life, not end it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And what would you have done? If your parents had taken everything you cared about and thrown it away like it was nothing? Shit, Todd, I was seventeen. My father wanted to end my life before it even started."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Would you do it again?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The tension is palpable. Todd dare not look at Neil's face for fear of what he might see, but he can practically hear the gears turning in his mind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Faced with living with my parents again? Yes. In a heartbeat. My father is a homophobe and a bully who'd rather see me dead than living the way I want. But if I could choose my life? If I could live on the stage, with a man I love, with freedom and security and </span>
  <em>
    <span>art</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Never. I never wanted to die, Todd. I just wanted to really live."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Todd's breath is locked in his throat, the weight of Neil's words so dizzying he feels he could pass out. He's answered so many of the unanswerable questions that have been choking Todd for so many years, and finally hearing the truth is nearly painful. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Neil is alive. Neil is gay. Neil is an artist, a free-thinker, an optimist. And Neil is </span>
  <em>
    <span>afraid.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I wanted to exist freely. I wanted to do what I wanted, say what I wanted, </span>
  <em>
    <span>love </span>
  </em>
  <span>who I wanted. It's terrifying, Todd. To think you'll have that ripped away from you? I didn't know how to deal with it. I was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>kid</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I made a mistake, and I've paid for it a thousand times over."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He gestures again to his temple, a wound healed but never hidden. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Todd is beginning to understand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He's been lucky, in a dysfunctional way, that his parents are so apathetic. He never faced disdain for his academic choices - his desire to pursue poetry, his impractical degree, his spectacularly lacklustre extracurricular endeavours - because his family simply never cared to notice. Ruinous as that is in its own way, at least he's never felt the pressure that Neil has. He can't say for certain, but he thinks maybe - just maybe - he too would rather leave this earth than follow in his father's footsteps. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"These last few years trying to track you down, I've felt more complete than I ever did at home. I think maybe that's my purpose - to find you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Does it feel complete now? To be with me?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of course." Neil grins, the lopsided smirk that Todd has spent years trying to remember perfectly. "I knew you three months and I spent seven years trying to get back. You were the missing piece I didn't know was missing."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Todd is suddenly glad of the icy weather, because his cheeks would be </span>
  <em>
    <span>embarrassingly </span>
  </em>
  <span>pink were it not for his whole face already being flushed from cold.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hearing it said like that makes it all the more real. He had never quite considered that he and Neil were only a part of each other's lives for three short months. The impact Neil made on him in that time was so profound that it's followed him for his whole life since. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Do you believe in fate?" Todd asks, desperate to move the conversation along before his emotions overcome him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neil laughs. "Not really. I've always figured that if our lives were destined to go a certain way then there would be no point living them."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Awfully cynical of you, Perry."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not really." He shrugs. "I think humans are supposed to choose what happens to us. Forge our own paths. That's not cynical, that's… I don't know. Optimistic, I guess. I don't believe in a God, I believe in myself. I want to be the ruler of my own kingdom."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's the Neil I remember."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Neil laughs heartily, his head thrown back and his eyes closed. Todd can't help but join him, a gentle giggle that becomes a raucous guffaw the longer it goes on.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This whole situation is so unreal. A relic of the past spontaneously dropped into Todd's new reality, and he's indistinguishable from his old self. The world around him has changed, but Neil never has. Never will, probably. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As the snow continues to fall, Todd thinks he'd be happy for it to bury him. For the heavens to open and freeze the pair of them in this moment, in this state of euphoria for the rest of time. This moment is a dream, one so far-fetched that he hadn't even thought to dream it before, and it's all so perfect that he never wants it to end. He wants the moon to shine on him forever, for the stars in Neil's eyes to continue lending themselves to the sky, and for their laughter to be the music of the night for an eternity.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I never stopped thinking about you."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Neil tears his gaze away from the sky and back to Todd.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Never? Not once, not in seven years? You're telling me you never forgot me, not even for a day?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You make it sound so ridiculous. You're the one that came and found me from beyond the grave. No, Neil, not even for a day."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neil chuckles, looking slightly impressed. "At least I wasn't imagining it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Imagining what?" Todd bristles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That you liked me too."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Too?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wow, Todd. For a genius you can be awfully slow. I like you. Always have."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The nervous, unconfident part of Todd wants to think it's a joke, but it's hard to believe so after the events of the evening. Neil is many things, but he's not cruel, and he wouldn't lie about something like this after so long.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Can I kiss you?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He has no idea where the question came from, and he looks just as taken aback as Neil when the words leave his lips. After a beat or two of silence, Neil grins. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'd love that."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And so they kiss. Slowly, softly at first, but the longer their lips are together the more hungry the kiss becomes. They're making up for lost time, for all the kisses they should have had in the years they've been apart. This should have happened long ago, should have happened every day since, and neither one of them is ready to waste even a second.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When they finally pull apart, their faces are flushed from more than cold. They can do little more than stare into each other's eyes, several minutes of silence spent losing themselves to one another.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They kiss again, then again. They keep kissing until all the air leaves their lungs, and then jump straight back to it as soon as they've taken a moment to breathe. It's unsafe, and they know it - to be so openly queer is dangerous, even in a relatively progressive city, even when they think they're alone. But the risks don't occur to them when it's so easy to finally delve into the arms of the one person that has occupied their minds for years.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pulling away from each other once again, they each find themselves laughing. Neil lies back in the snow, and Todd stares at him in bewilderment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Are you crazy?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I feel so </span>
  <em>
    <span>alive</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Toddy."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You won't if you freeze yourself to death!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neil just laughs again. "C'mon, try it."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He reaches out a hand to take Todd's, and pulls him down beside him. Once the initial shock of the cold seeping down his spine wears off, Todd understands. Staring up at the stars, alongside the man he loves, with the harshness of winter stinging his skin to remind him that this is truly happening, he understands why Neil loves the snow so much. He really does feel alive, feels the spark of reality lighting up his whole body.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They lie there for God knows how long. The sky moves slowly above them, and they take in every star with absolute wonder. Todd thinks he could learn every word in the English language and still never have enough to describe this feeling.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Shit!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neil turns his head. "What is it?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's almost eight o'clock! I told Anthea I'd be back by dinner."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well then." Neil jumps to his feet with alarming speed.  "We'd better get going."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He reaches out a hand and pulls Todd up, dragging him back in the direction of home. Todd notes that, while Neil is slightly off balance in a way he never used to be, the cane doesn't seem to slow him down. Within moments they're practically running through the streets - any notion that he should slow himself to accommodate Neil is shot when he realises he can barely keep up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They reach the apartment block not much later, and Todd scrambles for his keys with stiff fingers, the cold finally catching up to him now he's standing still. He opens the door to the overwhelming scent of Anthea's cooking.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Todd Anderson, what have I told you about keeping track of time?" Her voice wanders through from the kitchen. "Where have you even </span>
  <em>
    <span>been </span>
  </em>
  <span>at this hour?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She walks into view, affectionate annoyance across her features, but stops short at the sight of two men before her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realise Todd had a visitor."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thea, this is a friend of mine from school."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Neil reaches out a hand to shake hers, and she takes it politely.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Don't tell me!" She steps back, looking him up and down. "Meeks is shorter, Pitts is taller… Charles is down in Florida and Knox is in England, so you must be…" With her brow furrowed in confusion, she gives up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Neil." He smiles. "Neil Perry."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anthea's eyes widen. "Neil…" She turns to Todd, raising her eyebrows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Neil, would you like a shower? You must be freezing." Todd mumbles, turning to him. "The bathroom is just through there, I'll get you some fresh clothes."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Neil thanks him with a smile and goes away, understanding Todd's wordless plea for a chance to explain the situation. The moment he's out of earshot, Anthea tugs Todd into the living room.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I thought Neil Perry was dead?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So did I. He turned up this afternoon."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Isn't he the one you were in love with? The one you keep writing about?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah." Todd blushes, averting his gaze. "He's been trying to find me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anthea gasps. "Did anything happen?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Maybe." Todd giggles, his face turning an even deeper shade of red. "We might have kissed."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Todd!" She slaps his arm, grinning wildly. "This is amazing!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I know, I know! Can he stay for dinner?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of course he can stay for dinner! He can stay forever! Todd, this is incredible."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm going to go get him some clothes."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Make sure you change too. I won't have you getting pneumonia." She responds sternly, but squeezes his shoulder affectionately. "I'm so happy for you, Todd."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Todd can't wipe the smile off his face as he wanders through to his bedroom, rifling through his closet to find some clothes for Neil. He comes across a sweater, the green wool one that's a relic of his Welton days. It was Neil's, the only thing Todd had been able to keep of his personal effects before Mr. Perry came and ransacked the room. He's never worn it, choosing to keep it safe in a locked case at the bottom of his wardrobe - sometimes, at night, when his heart is breaking, he takes it out just to hold it to his chest and breathe in the lingering traces of Neil's smell that still lives within the fibres. He's been careful to preserve it all this time, but today feels the perfect moment to bring it back to life. He picks it up, along with a pair of loose plaid pyjama pants, and carries them through to the bathroom. Knocking softly on the door, he places them just inside the doorway with his eyes staring firmly at the floor.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Returning to his room he changes into pyjamas of his own, and a sweater much too large. His hair is still damp, plastered to the back of his head, but the heat from the radiator is enough to warm him, and he can practically feel the fire that burns inside of Neil through the walls. He glances back over at the case he pulled Neil's sweater from, and remembers something else.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A journal, with a worn leather cover and frayed pages. He hasn't read its content in seven years. It was originally supposed to record all the details of his life at Welton, but after a couple of weeks became a book of poetry - just raw ideas, nothing complete, nothing that could truly express how he was feeling. The last time he actually wrote in it was the day of Neil's memorial service, and he hasn't been able to bear the thought of touching it since. It has been worn down by time, but not by use. He picks it up now and opens it to the last filled page.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You spoke of the future with such passion</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Of the present with such disdain</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You slept only with the promise of waking the next day</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And you set the world alight in your path</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You promised me greatness</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You promised the world your voice</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You promised yourself a life of wonder</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You promised us that you would live each day as if it were your last</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There was a flame in you</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The ice that followed us</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Melted in your wake</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You burned brighter than the sun itself</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You did.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It's terribly written by his modern standards, but at the time it was the best he knew how to do. He always thought that the final line read as if it was finished, but it didn't seem right to call that the end. He pored over that page for hours before finally locking the book away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With the sound of the shower still running, he picks up a pen from his desk and slides to the floor with his back against the radiator. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You speak of fate with disdain</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Of the future still with passion</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You speak of us</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You speak of what we can do</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Of what we will do</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Your voice is stronger than I knew it</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Your greatness still shines on</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You are wonder</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You are reality</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You are life</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The flame in you still burns</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ever bright, ever hot</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The snow still melts</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The ice still thaws</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The candle of your soul will never go out</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You do.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It's far from how he usually writes, but it's the most complete he's ever found one of his poems. Most of the time he'll finish something, put down his pen, and stare at it for endless moments wondering if it's truly ready. Nothing he does has ever felt enough before this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He feels seventeen again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anthea's voice calls him for dinner, and it startles him to realise that the thrum of running water next door has been over for several minutes at least. A figure looms in the doorway.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Is that your old journal?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Todd slams it shut and stutters for several seconds, unable to get a word out. Neil raises his hands in mock surrender.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"It looks familiar."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I had to finish something."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Neil doesn't press for further explanation, and the two of them wander through to the kitchen, where Anthea has laid three plates out on the table. If Neil moves his chair marginally closer to Todd's, none of them acknowledge it. Their knees knock together under the table as conversation strikes up, and Todd marvels at the way Neil never once speaks of the past. Everything he has to say is about the future, and he and Anthea both look on with awe as Neil's plans illuminate the room.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn't miss a beat as they finish eating and move the conversation through to the living room. Anthea settles into the armchair as the men sit on the sofa, Neil so close to Todd that he’s practically resting on his shoulder. They speak of dreams, and of what Neil would be doing in his most ideal now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A minute or so after the clock strikes ten, Anthea poses a question.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, Neil - where are you staying?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A hotel a few blocks from here. You might know it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Radway?” She gasps. “Neil, that place is </span>
  <em>
    <span>horribly </span>
  </em>
  <span>expensive!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t I know it. I’ll probably have to find somewhere else before it bankrupts me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stay here.” Todd is quiet, so much so that he’s unsure if either of them heard him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For real?” Neil turns to him, eyebrows knitted in confusion. “Are you sure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well… yeah. If Thea wouldn’t mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’d be happy to have you.” She offers, smiling at Todd with her eyebrows raised suggestively. “We could get your things right now, if it suits.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neil grins. “That would be amazing! If you really don’t mind?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Though speaking to Anthea, he hasn’t torn his eyes from Todd. His red hot gaze burns into Todd’s skin, leaving the older man blushing softly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Grab your coat, we’ll go right now. Todd, make the place nice for our guest.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Everything moves quickly, and in seemingly no time at all Todd is alone in the apartment. Left to mull over the events of the evening, it takes him several moments to make his way through to the bedroom.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He keeps his room tidy for the most part, but decides to change the bed clothes so Neil can rest in something clean. The bed is plenty big enough for two, but he decides cautiously to grab a blanket and cushion from the closet to adorn the couch. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He puts on a pot of tea in anticipation of his housemates' return, mostly to give him something to do with his hands. His blood is electric, and it's all he can do to keep his fingers from shaking. When the others get back he's seated nervously with a record playing softly and a mug warming his palms. Neil puts his things down in the bedroom before returning to Todd's side.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The three of them keep talking for hours more, the roar of the fire accompanying them long past the moment the final song ends. Anthea shuffles off to bed a little before midnight, leaving the boys alone to stare into each other’s souls.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for this evening, Todd. I really was worried you wouldn’t want to see me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have to admit, I almost didn’t. I’m glad you’re here, though.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Once again, Neil’s cheeks turn pink. “I’ve been imagining this night for a while. The thought of you really has kept me going, Toddy.”</span>
  <span></span><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Their eyes meet, and once again they’re lost to one another. Neil leans in and Todd gratefully accepts the kiss.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have the bed set up for you.” Todd whispers as they pull apart. “I’ll be just through here if you need me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re taking the couch?” Neil responds, incredulous. “No, Toddy. It’s your bed, I insist you sleep in it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well I can’t ask you to sleep on the sofa! It wouldn’t be fair.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who said anything about that?” He smirks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Todd’s heart leaps in his chest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There were many nights at Welton he had pictured climbing into Neil’s bed and holding him as they both slept, but he never imagined it would ever come to fruition. It was a fantasy, plain and simple. Yet here they are, so many years later, and Neil is suggesting it. And really, why shouldn’t they? It’s a double bed. Designed for two, designed for lovers. Is that what they are?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hesitantly, he nods. The decision is proved worth it just by the smile that lights up Neil’s face. The younger man rises, reaching out a hand for Todd. As always, Todd takes it with a smile. They make their way through to the bedroom and settle into the bed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Neil’s touch is tender, gentle in every way. He’s so affectionate that Todd has to actively tell his heart to stop beating so wildly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What does this mean for us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I just…” He tries to form words - for a writer, he really does struggle to navigate the English language at times. “I just thought… Well, we’ve kissed. We’re </span>
  <span>sharing a bed. I can’t very well keep calling you my friend, can I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a grin, Neil looks off to the far all as if in deep thought. “I suppose I’d be happy to call you my boyfriend. If it were okay with you, of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It would be more than okay.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They settle down under the covers, and Todd reaches out to turn off the lamp. Lying side by side, face to face, Todd takes in every inch of his </span>
  <em>
    <span>boyfriend’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>face. Captured in the thin stream of moonlight that cascades through the gap in the curtains, Neil looks nothing short of ethereal. His features are soft, happy. He looks more carefree than Todd has ever seen a man.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Though it takes Todd far longer to fall asleep than it does Neil, it’s for no bad reason. He lies awake feeling the comforting weight of an arm strewn across his chest, listens to the steady rise and fall of his lover’s chest. He thinks of love, and light, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>life, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and of how all those things are encompassed perfectly within Neil Perry.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Moments like these, Todd decides, are what poetry was invented for.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>ok so i hope u ? liked this ? i guess ? i'm terrible at words</p><p>pls comment if u enjoyed it i have a vague idea for a second part to this if anyone might want that idk</p><p>pls be nice to me i'm very fragile</p></blockquote></div></div>
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